


Stolen Hearts, Among Other Things

by CowardlyTank



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bad Puns, Co-Written, Cute, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fire, First fanfiction ever, Opposites Attract, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, lots and lots of morally gray actions, one author is a girl and the other is a boy, pelamoire has really big boobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowardlyTank/pseuds/CowardlyTank
Summary: Otherwise known as "That One Awkward Time That the Barmaid Turned Into A Fire Mage And Had to Go to Winterhold With an Asshole Bodyguard Who Then Proceeds to Fall In Love With Her."





	1. That Awkward Moment When Your Future Girlfriend Hates Your Guts

**Author's Note:**

> We're sorry for this. We really are. It all started with "Fifty Shades of Greybeard" and then snowballed into a gay romance involving a frost troll named Jim, an out-of-control fire mage, and a mostly-straight thief. Neither of us is really sure how it happened, but trust me, we apologize from the bottom of our hearts.  
> Originally intended to be porn without plot. That didn't work out. Now it's a long journey to Winterhold and a slowly blooming romance.  
> Go forth and cry.

The barmaid was standing there in an alleyway, near the scene of the murder- a perfect target for Vyriine’s scam. Smiling, the thief walked up to her.   
    “You there- did you see what happened here?” Vyriine spoke, trying to hide the sound of her near-laughter with the strongest Nord accent she could muster.  
    “...No…?” The barmaid’s voice was apprehensive as she turned around to face Vyriine, combing long curls of rich, dark brown away from her face. “Why?”  
    “Well, no one said the murderer walked away from the scene, and you’re standing right on it. Tell me now why you aren’t the murderer.” Vyriine could barely hold herself together. This was going wonderfully.  
    “You can’t possibly think that. If I were standing right on the murder scene, I’m sure I’d have blood on my boots.” The barmaid sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.”  
    “I don’t think you understand. There are a lot of problems here in Windhelm, and murder is already one of them. I suggest you turn yourself in,” Vyriine continued, almost flirtatiously. “Or…”  
    “Or what?” A flat, unbelieving voice. Not exactly the best tone for a target to have.  
    “Well, no one is going to miss this poor bastard,” said Vyriine, pointing towards the dead dunmer on the ground. “And, for a few septims, this could all disappear, if you know what I mean.”  
    The barmaid’s dark eyes widened, but she spat out her next words with enough venom to kill a frost troll. “Go to Oblivion, imposter.”  
    “Well then, maybe I’ll just have to spread the word about you, let everyone know that you’ve got a dark history. And maybe a few coins in the right place could change that story. So until then, enjoy spending the rest of your time in the Gray Quarter,” Vyriine said authoritatively. In her last seconds of walking past the barmaid, she made a quick, imperceptible reach into her pocket.  
    Her hand was met with extreme heat as the barmaid grasped her wrist firmly and threw her into the wall with a surprising amount of strength. “Go empty the pockets of the Shatter-Shields, thief. I’ve nothing in there.”  
    Vyriine removed her helmet, smugly smirking. “It seems you’ve caught on to me here. Well done- only a few can pull that off. I’d best be on my way, pockets to pick, people to rob.” She looked the barmaid up and down one last time before she slinked out, this time with a sense of admiration rather than smelling the stench of gullibility. She couldn’t help but notice that she was quite well-endowed. Well, she had to be, didn’t she? Barmaids’ breasts were half the profit. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. Legal business has no place here.

 

-Pelamoire-

The barmaid rushed through the alleyways, finally arriving at a tiny, battered old door. She pushed it open with a low sound of discomfort, and it revealed an interior, in an only slightly better state than the door itself- dimly lit by a crackling fire surrounded by flimsy wooden chairs, low bookshelves bathed in the orange light. On one of the chairs sat a suit of Daedric armor, contentedly turning the pages in a book. It glanced up at Pelamoire as she came in. “You look terrible.”  
“Yes,” she responded tiredly, collapsing into the chair opposite the armor. “I do, don’t I?”  
The armor set down its book and gave its full attention to her. “Confrontation? Another sleazy Nord with too much ale and not enough coin?”  
“I ran into a thief and had to use my magic. It almost went out of control.” She sank down lower into the seat, voice coming out with a tightness hinting at tears. “I’m scared it’ll go out of control, Rosie.”  
The armor picked up its book again. “You would be.”  
“And you aren’t? You do know that the last time It happened, I made an entire village of innocents go mad?” Pelamoire tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling so that the light wouldn’t reveal the abnormal brightness in her eyes. “We should have stayed in the shack by the lake.”  
“We were running out of money, Pel,” the armor responded. “You knew we couldn’t stay there forever. Food doesn’t just grow on- Actually, it does. But we certainly can’t acquire it without money.” It cleared its throat. “Look, your magic isn’t going to go out of control again.”  
“How do you know that?”  
The armor removed its demonic helmet, revealing long, curling waves of platinum blonde and large brown eyes. “I’ve got a gift for you.” Digging around in her pack, the Black Knight of Dibella finally unearthed something and tossed it over to the other girl. Pelamoire caught it and her eyes widened for a split second before narrowing. “This is… How did you get this? This could buy-”  
“It’s buying your freedom,” Lyriose interrupted, holding up a gauntleted hand. “You’re going to attend the College of Winter- hhhf! Hey- don’t do that-”  
Pelamoire was hugging the knight, practically sobbing. “Thank you Rosie… thank you… I love you so much… I’m going to miss you…”  
Lyriose rolled her eyes. “I’ve hired someone to escort you to Winterhold. It’s going to be a long and dangerous trip- you understand?”  
This gave Pelamoire pause. “Aren’t you coming with me?” Lyriose was very protective of her sister and would normally not entrust the barmaid’s safety to anyone else. The knight just shook her head and closed her eyes, and Pelamoire knew better than to ask why. Instead, she changed the subject. “When do we leave?”  
Lyriose looked back down at her book. “Tomorrow, at dawn. You’ll be meeting your guardian at the gates.”  
It stung to know that her sister wouldn’t see her off, but Pelamoire brushed the feeling away. The knight was always away- the periods where she was present in the house were few and far between, often caused only by mortal wounds or extreme fatigue. The house was Pelamoire’s home, not Lyriose’s.  
The barmaid embraced the knight again, then made her way into her bedroom to pack the few belongings she could bring.  
It was the dawn of a new era.

-Vyriine-  
      
Vyriine awoke cold, shortly following midnight. She hated Windhelm. The snow and the racists were enough on their own, but the city itself had a dark feeling to it. Being of Riften herself, she thought she would be used to such feelings of despair but yet the city projected a sense of useless hope that unnerved her every time.  
    Pulling off the blankets, she smirked as she remembered where she had spent the night. She had slipped into the Jarl’s palace before sunset the night before and slept undisturbed on the second floor the whole night. She slipped out the open window, and carefully made her way down to the alleys around the palace. The cold battered her mercilessly, but she remained focused as the storm gained strength.  
    Since her insomnia had gotten the better of her, she strolled through the white streets of the old stone city. With nothing interesting going on, she thought over the events of the previous day. The fake guard scam had not been as profitable as she had hoped, with too many poor people for her to make a profit. None had stuck out in here memory quite like the barmaid did, who ever so perceptively spotted the scam. Such a shame, Vyriine thought to herself, that that girl will never leave this shithole city. She has potential. Vyriine pushed the thoughts out of her mind once more, justifying it with knowing the past is none of her concern. She would probably live the rest of her life and never see that girl again.  
    Bored by her analysis of the day’s events, she looked forward towards the upcoming job, one which would get her out of Windhelm and give her the opportunity for the ultimate frame job. An intimidating mercenary had paid her to escort some peasant to Winterhold. Once there, she could slip into the college, steal everything that glimmers, shines or glistens and plant a few of them on the unlucky commoner. Money, revenge, and no consequences, just the way she liked it.  
    As the rim of the sky turned orange, she strolled out the front gates of the frozen lump of rock they call Windhelm. She leaned against the stables and waited for her victim to arrive. A girl by the name of Pelamoire, an aspiring mage of sorts. Vyriine chuckled, thinking of how she wished in her youth to be a mage. Dreams don’t come true, she reflected, life is too predictable for that. And then the joke was on her.


	2. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up... just not in the way you'd expect.

-Pelamoire-  
Pelamoire’s eyes flashed open and she immediately sat up on her bed, clutching the leather bag she’d prepared for her journey to Winterhold. Lyriose was gone- she could feel it in the air- but right now, nerves and excitement were completely overflowing her system. She was headed to Winterhold at last! She trotted out into the snow of Windhelm, ignoring the coldness that bit at her cheeks, so fixated on the gates that she barely even felt it.  
The silhouette of the city walls was stark and looming against the sheer white sky; Pelamoire was tempted to conjure a flame to make the whole landscape look more hospitable, but dared not risk it. Slowly, the details on the walls became more visible as she approached them. Once she’d reached the stony gates, she pushed one open, exerting all the strength in her body, and as it slowly creeped ajar she saw the grinning face of a-  
Thief. The thief. Pelamoire grimaced and slipped through the tiny gap she’d been able to open, letting it fall shut behind her once she’d stepped through. She turned and looked at the thief. “What are you doing here?” This was not the type of day in which people stayed outside for pleasure, so she must have been here for a reason.  
“You again? Funny, I almost missed you. Well, I’ll be off in a second so I’m not your problem. Hey, have you seen a peasant waiting around here?” the thief said casually.  
“I’ve no idea what you’d want with a peasant. Don’t you want money?”  
“Exactly. Some knight paid me to guard some weakling a few miles north to Winterhold,” the thief said, ignoring Pela’s tone.  
“...Winterhold?” A note of horror came into the barmaid’s voice. This couldn’t be… the bodyguard Lyriose had hired… right?  
“What’s your problem? Do you know what’s going on?” the woman said, apathetic to the barmaid’s sudden expression of terror.  
“Wh...who hired you?” Pela tried to keep her voice from getting too high.  
“Some giant girl in daedric armor. Funny, she didn’t even seem to notice my… profession,” the thief chuckled.  
Pela had to stop herself from keeling over and dying right there. Surely there could be another person in Windhelm with daedric armor? “Did she give you the client’s name?”  
“Some girl named Pelamoire.” The thief’s face remained absent of emotion until now, where it suddenly was filled with a disturbing smile.  
Pelamoire’s stomach went into her throat, but she decided to fight fire with fire. She summoned up the most sultry of her smiles and held out her hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Pelamoire.”  
“Well… isn’t this just delicious? My name is Vyriine. Well then, let’s head off, you incorruptible ray of sunshine,” the thief said, with a strange and vicious grin on her face.  
That made Pelamoire stop dead in her tracks. “Are you flirting with me?”  
“It’ll be a long road, so we’d best make nice. I wasn’t flirting, but… I like where your head is going,” Vyriine spoke delicately. She began moving out, across the bridge that led out of Windhelm.  
Pelamoire decided that she had no choice but to follow. “I can’t believe Lyr couldn’t see you for who you are,” she muttered under her breath.  
“You’d be surprised how easily you can change the word around town with the right amount of coin in the right place,” Vyriine said. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t supposed to hear that, was I?”  
“No. You weren’t,” Pelamoire snapped. “Just… do us both a favor and stop talking.”  
“Aww, you’re just no fun. Oh well, things will get better. Things are always fun when I’m involved,” Vyrinne said tauntingly. Her demeanor seemed to whisper, I can make you whatever I want you to be.  
It was… happening, Pelamoire realized. She remained silent, trying desperately to make the surge stop. Or… just prolong the wait until it happened. Except, of course, she couldn’t. It was only a matter of time.  
Vyriine hummed a tune for a while, but silence fell inevitably. The road was made most uncomfortable not by the cold or the weather, but the unshared thoughts that welled up within Pela. Vyriine seemed unaffected, nearly smiling the whole way.  
...Until, that is, it happened. Pelamoire yelped and jumped away from Vyriine. “Run. Get away,” she gasped out, distancing herself as far away from the thief as she could.  
“Oh, you’ll be back,” Vyriine said casually, without turning her head. It was unnerving how calmly she responded.  
Pelamoire’s strides were getting weaker; she was losing strength. Her vision began pulsing with black, and soon, she was collapsed in the snow. She never fell completely unconscious during the attacks, but it was near. Fire began to burn through her body, building up its heat and power.  
After a while, there was a loud screaming sound from where Vyriine had been. (Please explain how Pela reaches her and sees that she (Vyriine) is fighting a troll) kk got it  
Her skin burned into the snow. A radius of fire exploded from her position, leaving Pelamoire weak and shaky, but she pulled herself up off the ground once the worst had happened. She needed to ensure that the blast hadn’t caused any damage. Slowly, she limped over to Vyriine’s former position, and saw… a troll. A frost troll, engaging in a fierce battle with the thief. “Back off, Jim!” hissed Vyriine, trying to evade another swipe from the troll’s enormous claws.   
...Jim? Pelamoire thought, bemusedly. “Do you need help?” she called out. Maybe this once, her magic could come in handy.  
“NO!” roared the other woman, hurling a dagger into the troll’s stomach. It collapsed, gave her a melancholy glare, and limped away slowly. Pelamoire stared at it, then at Vyriine. “What just happened?”  
“Fucking bastard...I… shit…” Vyriine said with her last coherent breath. She fell ungracefully into the snow, with a pool of blood spreading out from her stomach.  
All dislike forgotten, Pelamoire rushed over to the woman. “What’s bleeding?”  
Vyriine gave a strained groan in response.  
The barmaid rolled the thief over, eyes widening at the sight of the deep gash in her stomach. If the injury didn’t get tended soon, Vyriine would die. Taking a deep breath, Pelamoire put her hand over the bloody wound. “I’m going to cauterize it.” She summoned up her magicka and released a searing wave of heat into the wound, disregarding Vyriine’s agonized scream. After a moment, she released her magic, breathing heavily. “Are you all right?”  
For a moment, there was only silence. But, a few seconds following, Vyriine said one last thing before succumbing to unconsciousness entirely.  
“Yeah… just a little heartburn…”  
Pelamoire laced her arms under Vyriine’s and started dragging her to safety- a cave, perhaps. As much as she disliked the woman, she had no interest in letting her die… besides, technically speaking, the thief had just performed her duty as bodyguard.


End file.
